Another Chance
by Siretha Elaine
Summary: Toby Cavanaugh lost the girl of his dreams, but he's never stopped dreaming of her. When he's granted a chance to go back in time to make things right, will he get it right? Will he get another chance with the one who got away?


_Story Written Only For FanFiction_

_By: Siretha Elaine_

~:~

**Chapter 1 - Prelude**

"Is this what you're looking for?" a fragile, raspier than usual voice inquired.

That voice. That voice was the first thing he heard in the morning; that voice was the last thing he heard before he went to sleep each night. He loved the laughs that voice produced; he especially adored the growls that voice made during one of their many intense Scrabble matches that he always won. That voice could bring him back to life, because anytime he heard that voice, his heart raced.

As much as he worshiped the sweet sounds of her voice, now was the absolute worst time to hear it. His heart didn't skip a beat like it usually would; no, it completely stopped working. His stomach shriveled up to a tenth of its normal size. His pupils dilated with horror.

He remained with his back to her, frozen in place and time. His mind worked overtime trying to think of a quick escape route before he was unmasked or compose of an excuse for breaking and entering into her home while dressed suspiciously in all black like a burglar.

Then he heard the clinking of metal followed by a sniffle that he knew was suppressing her cries. She knew. He knew she knew now. There was no reason to run. He had to do what he wasn't ready to do yet.

In unison with him turning around, bolts of lightning flashed, casting an eerie glow upon the dark figure which frightened the teary-eyed brunette even more. Although her unblinking eyes were transfixed on him as he gradually made his way closer to her, she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Spencer…"

That voice. That voice was the first thing she heard in the morning because he called her as soon as daylight hit to wish her a good morning and profess his love; that voice was the last thing she heard before she went to sleep because she called him each night, so he could serenade her to sleep with an impromptu bedtime song. She loved the jokes that voice told; she especially adored the gasps that voice made when she introduced her lips to his abs. That voice kept her sane, because without it, she would have lost her mind by now.

As much as she giggled like a shy schoolgirl when he spoke her name, now was the most unflattering, terrifying way. She had always been the strongest one of all of her friends, but now she was as broken as the old jukebox from 1987 layered with cobwebs in a corner at The Grille.

Without even thinking about, her hand moved at the speed of lightning; she struck his face, causing the sole sound to echo throughout the quiet house in conjunction with a blast of thunder.

She could slap him a thousand times, but the pain would never be greater than the betrayal she thought he was doing.

Although it was dangerous for her to know his secret, he knew it was time to come clean all the way. He had been living this double-life for so long that he wasn't sure where to begin with his confession.

"How long have you known?" he inquired, trying to detect where he should start explaining.

Her words were nonexistent; she was too scared to speak. She presented the evidence she had. His gloved phalanges reached out and took possession of the laminated access card. It was his ID card with the fake alias that he used to get into Radley. He stared at it, wondering how she got it. He had thrown it away after Halloween.

That's when he realized. He'd been set up. Someone from the A Team had to have found out his true agenda and set him up for this. Which meant, Spencer was in more danger now than ever. He was at a loss for words. How could he explain all of this bad news?

Before he could fumble with words, another voice alerted them they were no longer alone in the house. Following the sound of her mother's voice, Spencer's head swiveled towards the entrance of the hallway where her mother would appear shortly. Toby utilized this moment to disappear without a trace.

He jumped in his pickup. He knew not to go to the loft; the A Team probably had a trap. So, he drove to the outskirts of Rosewood where a secluded area on the hill amongst the trees overlooked the entire city.

No one knew of this location but he and Spencer—it was their _safe_ _place_ _to_ _land_. He knew his girlfriend was intelligent and would come looking for him for an explanation. Preparing to tell her all that he knew and all that he had done, he waited for her.

And waited…

And waited some more…

But she never came…

~:~ 10 Years Later ~:~

With a tool belt anchored around his waist, Toby Cavanaugh exited his old, beat-up pickup truck that he'd just parked in front of a small storefront with an illuminated sign, which read _Clairvoyant_. He entered the partially lit, cluttered store.

To the left side of him, a massive shelf took up the entire wall. The shelf was housed with a variety of items for sale, i.e. books, Tara cards, colorful candles, bizarre jewelry. Nearest him was the checkout counter. Atop it were perfectly aligned mini crystal balls for sale. In the center of the room was a round table for two with a bowl of what appeared to him as glitter.

"Hello? Anyone here?" he called while his eyes continued to canvass the area for the storeowner.

Then his eyes ran upon something appealing.

SPENCER

His hues of blue quickly aborted searching for the storeowner when he saw that. He ran across the room towards the object. He yanked the book off the shelf written by Josephine Spencer. His calloused fingers gently caressed the letters of the last name. The name that belonged to the one who got away. The name that he thought he'd share his last name with. The name of the one whom he still loved even after all these years without her.

"That'll be 14.95," a heavy accented voice declared.

Toby looked over his shoulder to see the owner of the store behind the counter, staring at him.

"Oh no, I'm not buying this," he explained as he promptly returned the book to its proper place.

"I'm not talking about the book," she stated.

"I'm not here to buy anything, ma'am. I'm Toby Cavanaugh; Mr. Sweeny sent me. I'm the carpenter here to fix the leak in your roof."

He approached the counter where she stood.

He questioned, "Where's the hole?"

She pointed directly at him towards his chest. Toby thought she meant behind him, so he turned around. Because he was standing so close to the counter, when he turned around, the hammer clasped on his tool belt bumped into the counter. This caused one of the crystal balls to fall off the counter and shatter into shards.

Toby gasped. "Oh my God! I am so sorry!"

"It's ok."

"I'm so clumsy. I'm supposed to be fixing stuff, not breaking it. Again, I am so sorry about this ma'am. I'll pay for it. How much was it?"

"I already told you—14.95," she stated.

That's when Toby backtracked to a few seconds prior when she originally stated that. He looked up at her expectantly.

She simply smiled.

"Because I'm psychic, dear," she decreed.

He hadn't asked her. He watched her watch him expectantly. He knew she was closely observing his reaction to see if he was a believer. He wasn't. Toby thought all psychics were con artists, scheming gullible fools out of hundreds of dollars. He wasn't going to be one of those fools. He'd already been a fool once before, and it cost him the most precious thing in the world—Spencer.

Ignoring her attempts to sway his focus, he asked again where the hole was.

Again, she pointed at him, precisely at the left side of his torso.

"Right there," she indicated.

"Where?" he wondered.

"In your heart," she specified.

Toby rolled his eyes, an unimpressed expression covering his face. He was becoming a tad annoyed with her antics now. He really wanted to fix that damn leak and get out of there.

"I can feel your pain, dear; it's overwhelming," she assumed. "I sense you once loved someone deeply, but lost her."

_Yeah, so has every other person. Nice try, woman_, he thought.

Suppressing his impatience and annoyance, Toby maintained a polite tone. "Yes, but it was a long, long time ago. So, about the roof…"

She interrupted. "But you still love her. Even after all this time has passed, she still has a mighty hold on your heart."

"Ma'am, I really have to start on your roof…"

"And her name is…" the psychic said. She closed her eyes as if the answer was written on the inside of her eyelids. Her fingers danced as wrinkles formed between her eyebrows while she searched for the answer. "Spencer!" she finally decreed.

For two seconds, she had Toby convinced—almost. Then, he remembered the book. The psychic must have picked up on his keen interest with the covers' inkling and took a shot in the dark.

He tried to digress but she interceded, her jaunty voice overriding his soft spoken one.

"The spirits are speaking to me, dear," she proclaimed. "And the goddess of love says that your lady love still feels the same way about you. However, deception has put such a heavy strain on this match, deteriorating a love that once was. But the Angel of Fate says not to give up, sugar, for your fate lies in your hand."

Following her monologue, the self-appointed clairvoyant emerged from behind the counter and enclosed the distance between them. She grabbed Toby's hand and turned it palm-side up. She pointed.

"Do you see these three dots?" she asked.

Toby looked at his hand. He was shocked to find three enlarged dots on his hand. He'd never seen them before. He looked at the crazed woman's hands for a permanent marker, but she didn't have one.

How in the heck did those dots get there? It was as if they just magically appeared.

"Each dot represents a moment in your pastime; a significant moment whereas it has the greatest impact on your future. Go back in time, to any moment you desire, and change whatever you'd like to create a new future. If you don't like the results you get, don't worry—you get three chances. Each time you change something, a dot will vanish. When your final dot disappears, whatever change you make will be final; it will be your new reality."

Toby stared at the lady like she was speaking a foreign language. He was not buying into her nonsense.

"This is ludicrous," he snapped. "I'm leaving; I'll have Mr. Sweeny send someone else."

"I know you don't believe me, but in two minutes, you will. Watch out for the white Mustang," she warned.

Toby raced out of the store and jumped into his truck. He spit into the palm of his hand, trying to smear the dots and get the ink off of his hand. But the dots remained. They seemed to be embedded into his flesh.

"Whatever," he mumbled, still not believing any of that mumbo jumbo.

He started his truck. Before pulling out of his parking space parallel to the road, he looked both ways for traffic. No vehicles were approaching from the east and traffic from the west had been halted by a red light. It was safe for him to enter the highway, so he did. The front end of his truck was partially out when he saw a white coupe in his rear view mirror, quickly approaching. The light was still red, but the car didn't seem to be slowing down. Toby immediately applied his brakes. The vehicle zoomed past him, barely avoiding collision, and ran the red light.

Toby's heart was racing. That was sooo close. If he hadn't wasted those few seconds trying to rid the marks on his hand, he would have pulled out into the road completely, and that car would have pounded into him.

_By the way_, his conscience enlightened him, _that car was a white Mustang_.

Toby gasped. Had he really been granted another chance to make things right?

His disbelief in the psychic's powers was quickly fading.


End file.
